Lullaby
by obaona
Summary: Padme sings a lullaby. ObiWan listens. Vignette written for Halloween.


Thanks for clicking! :D  
  
Aye, I know it's not Halloween yet - I decided to post this earlier because while it _was_ written for Halloween, it's more sad/disturbing than scary/disturbing.   
  
The lullaby is mine - I wrote it while watching the latest episode of _Angel_. :)  
  
**Title**: Lullaby   
**Summary**: Padme sings a lullaby.   
**A/N**: Totally unbeta'ed 'cause I didn't want to bug my normal betas. :p  
**A/N2**: I can only imagine the horror Padme goes through in this story. :(  
**A/N3**: For some reason, I have this thought of turning this into an Obidala . . . :p This is a single piece, however.

**~*~*~*~**

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, putting his face in his hands, and slowly leaned the weight of his head against his hands and his elbows, set against the table, blocking out the dim yellow light from the single window. He felt exhausted, and it was a struggle to feel anything but deep apathy. His face twisted into a painful grimace. She was singing again.

_The stars still shine bright_

_The darkness is only the spaces between_

_Light still has it's might_

_And darkness is never seen . . ._

Her voice was cracking and hoarse from singing so many times, but she managed the first verse easily enough, voice falling at certain points. She cleared her throat roughly, and Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tears not to pass that barrier. _Padmé, just stop, please stop_, he thought. Every word, every broken note, was like torture.

_Hush little one_

_Don't you fear . . ._

Her voice broke again, and she paused. She evidently found it difficult to hit the higher notes, the lilting melody of the lullaby difficult for her. Obi-Wan opened his eyes, pulling his hands away from his face with an effort, and looked at her. She lay on the bed, back propped up with pillows, her arms full, holding them both swaddled in worn linen. Her hair hang in limp strings, and her face was tired and worn, like she had aged decades. A sweaty shift and blanket was all that covered her. She looked down at what she held with child-like intensity.

"Padmé," Obi-Wan began, his voice soft. "Padmé . . . "

She unhurriedly turned a baleful glare at him, brown eyes muddied with what Obi-Wan hoped was exhaustion and not dementia. Her eyes slowly shifted away from his, to the bundles in her arms. Then she began to sing again, finishing the verse.

_Everything is done_

_Taken care of, dear . . ._

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, but didn't manage to stop the fresh tears, following a well-worn path down his face. He stared at the old, wooden table, and struggled to focus on it, not the singing. Deep scratches adorned it, from who knew where and for what reason. The cabin was not often used, and was very old. It probably wasn't even in any public records, which made it a good hiding place while the New Order took over the planet. He tried to ignore what was happening a few feet away from him, alone on that bed. Here, in the middle of nowhere, only Obi-Wan, Padmé, and a few healers long since left, unwilling and unable to take the punishment of staying. 

Padmé started again.

_The stars still shine bright_

_The darkness is only the spaces between – _

"Padmé –"

She glared at him again, and then slowly finished.

_Light still has it's might_

_And darkness is never seen._

Obi-Wan silently rose from his chair at the table, the only other furniture in the room. He took the few steps over to Padmé's bed, and sat down beside her. Padmé permitted it without screaming or fighting, to his relief and surprise. The other times . . . she fought them off, protectively, the denial and pain strong and overshadowing everything else.

"Padmé, they're gone," Obi-Wan said quietly, looking into Padmé's weary eyes. "They . . . they are one with the Force now."

Padmé shook her head, firmly. "Not yet, not yet," she whispered hoarsely, dry, cracked lips firming into a line. She looked down at the bundles in her arms, and so did Obi-Wan. 

Their small faces were still, motionless. Eyes closed. Obi-Wan didn't know how much time had passed – hours? – didn't even know if they were cold yet. But they looked surprisingly peaceful, like they were sleeping. It was hard for Obi-Wan to believe that they had died in Padmé's body, that the toxic gas the New Order flew over Theed that had nearly killed her had killed them.

Looking at them, at last, made it easier for Obi-Wan to understand why Padmé refused to let go. Why she still sang the lullaby to her children as if they were still alive. Their forms were so still and perfect, not a display of death but of serenity.

"Padmé . . ." His throat was tight, and even as he spoke, he didn't what for. So he fell into silence.

Padmé ignored him, clearing her throat, and began again, her expression softening slightly as she gazed at her children.

_Hush little one_

_Don't you fear_

_Everything is done_

_Take care of, dear . . ._

Obi-Wan changed his position, so he was sitting closer to Padmé, and stroked back the hair falling over her face, taking note of the fresh lines in her face, the paleness of and heat of her skin. She didn't react. Obi-Wan touched the Force, very lightly – he was almost afraid to touch it, afraid of what it would show him of Padmé's mental state. Or his own, for that matter, weighed down with memories of darkness and this . . . this new, fresh pain.

When she began to sing the next part, Obi-Wan quietly joined in, his fresh voice not over-taking hers, but lifting it, smoothing over the worn out places where hers broke.

_The stars still shine bright_

_The darkness is only the spaces between_

_Light still has it's might_

_And darkness is never seen._

The silence that fell at the end was no longer full of agony, denial and fear, but was a simple quiet. The muted yellow light that came in from the golden prairies outside cast little shadow of Padmé's newly calm face as she looked towards it, out the window, and the weariness dropped away for a moment. Obi-Wan was struck by how beautiful she was, how she looked as if she was not ravaged by the events of the few past years. For a moment, she looked like the young woman he had briefly known on Naboo, near fifteen years past.

She finally turned her gaze from her children over to him, and a few more tears slipped down her cheeks. He hadn't thought she could give anymore, but then, he didn't think he had anymore to give, either. 

"It's time to let them go, Padmé," he said softly. She couldn't keep going on this way. She would never heal if she didn't accept the truth, because she would deny there was anything to heal from. And she was his concern now, nothing else. He would take care of her. She was, in a sense, all he had left, with Anakin gone, and the Jedi Order shattered. He stroked her cheek, trying to prompt a response.

She nodded slowly, finally, as if lost in a dream and only really giving a response that she didn't know the meaning of. She frowned, briefly, glancing down at what she held again. Then she sang softly, very quietly, her voice dropping closer to silence with each word. Obi-Wan was silent, allowing her to have this one, last brief goodbye to herself, recognizing not desperate need in her eyes, but grief at last.

_Hush, little one_

_Don't you fear_

_Everything is done_

_Take care of, dear . . ._

Then she let them go. Her fraught grip slackened, and she looked up at Obi-Wan, eyes innocently wide but shadowed with pain. He took them into his arms, ignoring the chill he felt. He walked outside, into the golden prairies where they would stay. He felt Padmé follow him, and while he knew that in her condition she shouldn't be walking, he said nothing. The dark soil, freshly turned, gave easily beneath his feet.

She stood as silent and still as a statue, serenely looking over the freshly turned soil and what it would hold, as he knelt and let go of his burden.

When he rose, he went to her and put his arm around her shoulders, bringing her close for both her comfort and his own. She leaned against him, silently, looking out and up into the golden fields.

_[fin]_


End file.
